


Keys of Silver, Dreams of Gold

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fade to Black, Fighting As Foreplay, Handwaving, I Don't Regret The Drunken Sex (But I Do Regret The Property Damage), Sort Of, Time Loop, ignores canon completely, more rushed than i would've liked, un-beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28206336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: An unexpected encounter on a distant planet. Unexpected consequences.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: Writing Rainbow Silver





	Keys of Silver, Dreams of Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



New planets were always an adventure. New cultures, even more so. So many new faces, so many new toys to play with.

The Master didn't remember the name of the planet that he was on, but he'd decided that he liked it: it was bustling, noisy, teeming with every kind of person imaginable. For a place that he'd chosen at random, he found that it suited him well. As walked down the central boulevard of the capital's commercial district, lined with shops and stalls and lurid adverts, he began to think that he might stay awhile.

He was perusing a display of chameleon circuits - his TARDIS was playing up again and spares were hard to come by - when someone brushed against his shoulders as they strode past. He turned to snap at them, whoever they were, but they had already gone. He'd caught something out of the corner of his eye, though, and curiosity compelled him to peer after them. And he saw-

A flash of blonde hair, that ridiculous coat - could it be? The Doctor, here?

They'd collided in some strange corners of the universe, but he hadn't expected to see her here. Except there she was, undoubtedly her. She hadn't noticed him - he wasn't sure if he was offended or grateful - and she continued past him, taking a swift (and somewhat haphazard) path down the street.

Following her was pure instinct. He kept his distance, just close enough to keep an eye on her, far enough to ensure that she wouldn't notice him. He stuck to the shadows and blended into the crowd, making himself functionally invisible, even as he followed in her zig-zagging wake, concealing himself when she paused to glance through a shop window. He had no idea where she was going: her entire demeanour suggested that she was searching for something, but her erratic route showed that she had no idea where to look or even what she was looking for. The Master recognised that contradiction, because it was the feeling that had driven so much of his life. _Not as different as you'd like to think, are we, Doctor?_

It wasn't until she stopped in front of a small, dome-shaped building - engaged in conversation by a woman who was standing outside, advertising whatever the building contained - that he deemed it safe to draw nearer, to within earshot. The Doctor's face, so wonderfully expressive, betrayed a deep and sudden fascination, the kind that meant, he knew, that she had ceased to pay attention to her surroundings.

"To face your innermost secrets," the woman was saying to her. "We all lie to ourselves. This is a chance to be honest. With yourself and with others, if you choose to have someone to accompany you."

He didn't bother to repress an eye-roll. Of course, the Doctor was interested in self-recrimination and introspection.

"I don't have anyone with me," the Doctor replied, eyes briefly becoming distant, before she seemed to remember her surroundings and her interlocutor. "How do you know what you're going to see?"

"You don't. That's the point. It's about self-discovery."

A head tilted to one side, calculating, slowly turning into a nod. With a simple transaction, she agreed and the woman waved her through the door, which slid open to admit her and shut firmly behind her. Unthinkingly, he took a step forward to follow, before thinking better of it. Too late. He'd been seen.

The woman eyed him appraisingly. "You know her."

He barked a laugh. "You could say that."

"In what way?"

"In what way do I know her?" he replied, incredulous. His tone suggested that he thought she'd lost her mind, though she didn't seem too bothered by the implication. "I know her in every way there is to know, she and I were raised together, I am her nemesis, her downfall-"

"Go ahead," she said, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter. "I won't charge you extra."

Besides having the audacity to interrupt him - his fingers itched for a weapon, cursed his rare state of disarmament - her lack of concern perturbed him. Usually, when people heard his _nemesis and downfall_ speech, they had the good sense to look worried. So, it was with irritation that he responded, "What are you charging for, anyway?"

She shrugged. "Depends on the person. You'll find out."

With a final glare, he moved past her, into the building. There was a faint mechanical hiss as he stepped over the threshold, probably the release of some kind of gas. The faint odour was reminiscent of short-term memory suppressants that he'd dabbled with in the past. Likely harmless, by his calculation. _Even if it's not, that's what regenerations are for_ , he mentally remarked, humourlessly.

* * *

Laughter, music, conversation. It washed over him as he entered the room - and what a spectacular room. It must have been fifty meters in diameter, perfectly circular, spread over a series of levels, each gilded and decorated to obscene levels of exorbitance. It was heaving with people in bowties and ball gowns, the kind with far more money than sense. It was, in short, one hell of a party.

The Doctor was there, directly in front of him. They were both under-dressed for the occasion, it seemed, but no-one appeared to notice.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," he said, and that was the honest truth. His mind was, in many respects, blank. He had no idea where they were or how he'd gotten there.

Even so, they'd managed to attract the attention of only one other attendee - an older gentleman who was making a beeline towards them, looking far too interested in them for comfort. He was wizened, shabbily dressed, and approaching them with a single-minded intensity.

He handed the Doctor a black cube, adorned with a simple red clock, already counting down and displaying only a few minutes remaining, and a button.

Automatically, she accepted it. "What-"

"A choice must be made," the man intoned. He crooked a finger at the Master. "Him or everyone."

Her eyes widened, her lips parted. She had never been very good at disguising shock. " _What?_ "

"Press the button and you'll save us all." His eyes flickered to the Master. "Hundreds of lives at the expense of one. Do nothing, you condemn us all."

He couldn't contain a laugh, almost hysterical. Because it _was_ hysterical - it was almost something that he himself would plan to torture her. Indeed, there was only horrified silence from her, stretching across moments.

"We… need to talk," she said weakly, as he reined in his fit of laughter, more to the old man than to him.

The man acquiesced with a half-bow, leaving them to converse.

"I don't understand."

The Master had to concur. It took a lot to throw a Time Lord, especially one as old as him, but this was peculiar. But he refused, on principle, to reveal any such confusion."He laid out the situation fairly clearly, don't you think?"

"It can't just be that. What's really going on?"

"I don't know, Doctor, but you've got ninety seconds to figure it out."

"I can't - that's not enough time!"

"Indecision kills, my dear Doctor. Literally, in this case."

She glared at him. "This isn't funny."

"Oh, but it is. This is moral crisis at its finest. It's a joy to watch." He sniffed. "Anyway, get over yourself. I can regenerate."

"I don't _know_ that."

He didn't reply to that, just watched her spiral further and further into doubt as the seconds ticked away.

With only single digits remaining, the old man reappeared beside them, poised to open his mouth. He didn't have time to say anything, but his demeanour telegraphed his message anyway. _Too late._

She hadn't pressed it.

The Master didn't hear the bang. Everything just went black.

* * *

A ballroom, glittering and bright. Full of life.

A box, a button. An antithesis.

A choice.

_This feels familiar._

"Indecision kills, my dear Doctor. Literally, in this case."

_I've been here before. I've said that before._

"This isn't funny."

_Oh._

" _This_ isn't real."

She turned to him in disbelief. "What?"

"Can't you feel it? It's figuratively two-dimensional, not to mention the fact that I can predict everything before it happens. It's something looped. Due to the lack of time-travel tech, I'm willing to bet it's a simulation, too."

"A looped simulation," she echoed, sounding less than enthusiastic.

"Unless you have a better suggestion."

"No, it makes sense. It explains the déjà vu." The Doctor rubbed a tired hand over her face.

"I can't quite put my finger on why we're here, since this all feels very benign, not at all like someone else is trying to get something out of either of us," he continued. "So, I assume that you've decided to put us through this tribulation."

"You're far more likely to do something like this," she fired back.

"Normally, I'd agree with you, except I wouldn't have trapped myself in here with you. I'm not _that_ much of a masochist."

"Okay," she said, visibly attempting to bring her temper under control. "How do we get out of it?"

"Since this is your fantasy, it'll depend on what you want out of it."

"It's not a fantasy. I didn't create it."

"It responds to you, it's built around you," he answered, flapping his hand dismissively. "It's a fantasy."

"Maybe I can just sonic it," she said, patting her pockets in search of her screwdriver.

"A simulation's gotta be good to fool two Time Lords. Whoever crafted this isn't going to have left it vulnerable enough for that."

The Doctor sighed, the emptiness of her pockets confirming his theory. "Fine. What could I possibly want out of something like this?"

"What are you not doing? The loop continues because you haven't done something. Once you do it, it'll end."

"Yes, thank you, I'm familiar with the basic concept."

"I strive to be helpful," he responded with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "I certainly have no desire to be stuck here with you indefinitely, especially since I doubt this," he gestured to their surroundings, "will allow me to kill you."

Making a derisive noise, she folded her arms. "I'm not pressing the button."

_Duh._ "It's not going to be _that_ simple, you imbecile. Something as straightforward as that isn't worthy of such a complex simulation."

"What, then?"

"It's a simple choice. What's stopping you deciding? You don't usually struggle with the _greater good_."

"It's different," she muttered. "Usually, you're not - it's not so stark. There's no right choice here."

"Ah, morality, Doctor. Never quite understood it."

"I can't kill you."

"Of course you can. It's a simulation. It's practically just a thought experiment," he scoffed. "Besides, we've come so close to killing each other before. It's a tiny step."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

A bubble of annoyance was rising in his chest. "Just answer the damned question! Or, if you won't answer, press the button!"

"I can't press the button."

"Why not? Why are you, the Doctor, about to sacrifice a roomful of bystanders?"

"Because-" She hesitated, closing her eyes, stealing herself. Every word was difficult. "Because I love _you_."

The words threw him. It took him a second to recover, to school his expression. The last time he'd heard The Doctor say those words, they been barely more than children. He hadn't been sure they were still true.

The din of music and chatter hadn't changed in any way. They were still trapped. Regardless, he couldn't help a jab. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Her stony face told him otherwise. She looked around, frustrated."I've… confessed. What more can it want?"

"Perhaps that's not enough to convince it."

She caught the drift almost immediately. Her hands balled into fists, her mouth set into a tense line. "I swear, if you're manipulating me-"

"I'm not, I have better things to do with my time," he drawled. "Although, if it's any comfort, rage suits you."

At that, she looked him squarely in the eyes. "You're an absolute bastard, I hope you know that."

He chuckled. "Don't pretend. That's why you love me."

There was a long second, where she just looked at him, eyes aflame.

And then her lips were on his, demanding, and he couldn't help but reciprocate. As kissed went, it was hard, entirely devoid of romance. It was teeth and tongues and fury, hands fisted in shirts, skin searching for contact.

The only thing that pulled them apart was the fact that the scene around them suddenly dissolved, leaving them in a starkly-lit room. There was another quiet hiss, a different gas, a sudden raft of new memories. Countless loops - they'd been in there for hours.

They were still mere centimetres apart, close enough to see how hard it was for her to force out her next words. "You were right."

* * *

He awoke, naked, in a bed that was not his own. The sheets, warm and rumpled, held a strange trace of perfume. The dim lighting was softer than anything he allowed himself. Yet, somehow, he knew exactly where he was; as he gradually shook off the embrace of sleep, that knowledge became less and less of a comfort, the feeling of chagrin steadily boiling in the pit of his stomach. A turn of his head did little to quell the conflict: she looked so peaceful, features devoid of the consternation that he felt. She was beautiful, of course - it was a source of infinite frustration to him, that the Doctor was, at least to his eye, always beautiful, in each and every form.

In his mind, things were somewhat hazy. He'd known what he was doing at the time, he was sure of that, but the mental exhaustion of being trapped in a time loop, followed by the exertion that had followed, had stolen some of the hard-edged clarity that his memories of the Doctor usually ententailed. He remembered crashing through her TARDIS' doors, knocking things off surfaces as they haphazardly made their way to a bedroom, unable to separate themselves for long enough to walk in a straight line. He remembered a discontent noise, almost distressed, from the TARDIS itself when they'd slammed into the console itself, shattering something that neither of them had bothered to check.

Still, they'd managed to make it to a bedroom before anything had _really_ happened, a fact for which he was glad; he was bitten and bruised as it was and, for once, he didn't think that the additional aches and pains from fucking on a hard surface would've added to the experience. And it certainly had been an experience. They'd done this before - more times than he could count - but not in a long time and never in these bodies. It had been both strange and familiar and undeniably intense.

But that had been last night.

As he dragged himself out of bed and searched for his clothes, which were strewn across the floor, all he could think was that last night and this morning were two very separate entities. Best to be gone before that line had to be confronted. A semblance of a thought, half-formed and fleeting, drifted across his mind as he found and donned his waistcoat; it was enough to make him reach a little further, to _her_ clothes, just to see what he could find - and he wasn't disappointed.

Satisfied and clothed, if not entirely presentable, he silently made his way out of the room and made for the TARDIS' front door. His exit was slower than he would've liked, given the twisting, identical corridors. With every passing moment, he was aware that it was more and more likely that she had awoken. If she had, she would beat him to the door, of course, and he wouldn't be able to make the swift escape that he hoped for. Luck, however, seemed to be on his side, since he eventually emerged into an empty console room. In fact, he was already halfway out the door when he heard her voice, was compelled to stop.

"Where are you going?"

The words were rough, sleep-worn.

A sharp pivot. "Why? It doesn't usually matter to you."

Instantly, he hated how soft his voice was, despite the harsh words.

"Of course it matters to me, it always matters, one way or another. I just-" She stopped, frowned, crossed her arms. "Last night, what we did-"

_There it is_ , he thought. It was one of the many curses of the Time Lords: emotions that were strong enough to burn star systems and not a single word to adequately express them. _Well, Time Lords always were afraid of their own primality._

At her failure to continue, he shook his head. He took a moment to collect himself, to straighten his jacket, to rearrange his face into an expression that felt a little safer, a little more familiar.

"I'm not about to apologise," he said, tone just short of a sneer. "It's not really my style."

The fire in her eyes was beginning to rekindle. Even half-dressed, the Doctor was a formidable enemy - it took only a few words for the two of them to remember where the battle-lines were drawn. Her next words were just short of spat. "It wouldn't kill you, would it? To apologise. Just once."

He threw a glance around the console room. "I won't apologise to you," he amended. "Your TARDIS, on the other hand… well, the old girl's seen a lot, you're not a particularly considerate owner."

"Excuse me-"

"Last night might've been the final straw, if I were her," he continued, utterly disregarding her attempt to interject. "I can't help but feel guilty. I might have to drop in some time, just to check on her. It would be irresponsible not to, don't you think?"

"You can't get in here without a key."

"Exactly, dear. That's always been vexing, I've never had one. Except-"

He thrust his right hand into his pocket, extracting its contents with a triumphant grin.

"Well, now I have."

It had been so easy to find her coat pocket and to take her key from it. TARDIS locks couldn't be changed; that was why the Doctor had always been so careful not to let him get hold of one. But he had one now, and he revelled in it, in the look of horror that contorted her face.

A flash of silver: a key dangling from his fingers. He flourished it once, taunting her, just for effect.

And then he was gone.


End file.
